


Fallout Kiss

by EyesWatchingUs



Category: Original Work
Genre: Hopeful Tone, Post-Apocalypse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyesWatchingUs/pseuds/EyesWatchingUs
Summary: No, this isn’t a Fallout 76 fic. /teasingTwo survivors go on a date.
Relationships: Misto/Pike
Collections: Eye’s Original Works





	Fallout Kiss

I stride across the snow, my heavy fur boots leaving deep wells for my lover to hop into and out of. I stop in front of the wreckage of a coffee shop, turning around to see his lithe form bouncing around.

He has his long, salt and pepper hair up in a high ponytail, and when he walks, it swishes just enough to make me wonder if he makes it swish on purpose. I laugh at the image he makes.

He then reaches me and grabs my waist as if I were a hamburger.

“Why are you laughing?” He half-growls jokingly. 

“You look like a bunny, dear.” I wrap my arms around his neck, cradling the back of his head. He melts into me, then presses his face to mine. Clink. The metal bits of our gas masks clinking reminds me of the tea parties we used to have as children.

We make kissy noises at each other, unable to actually press our lips together in the ash filled ruins of New York. Neither of us particularly mind. 

“Come on.” He says, dragging me inside. “Gotta get name inspiration, remember?”

We thought we were the only survivors for twenty or so years. In that time, we stopped referring to each other by name and ended up forgetting our names. This wasn’t an issue until we came across the Pietros… and then the LaGuertas… and the Lundas…and well, there’s a good amount of survivors.

We managed to set up a village next to an Amish family, who were nice enough to help us, but our census-taker (self-appointed, that jackass) got pissed at us for not having names, and told us not to come back until we had names. 

I kick over the board on the floor. A warped green mermaid gazes up at me. I frown. Blurry snippets of dreamlike scenes come to me, curling around the nerves in my hands, making me fake-feel cool metal and hot steam in my face. I twitch.

“What do you think about Matcha and Mocha?” My lover asks. I blink.

“Ehhh. I’ve never been partial to names that end in A. It feels too feminine for my style.” I wave my hand in a way that makes my brain supply the words asi-asi without letting me know what it means.

My lover looks at me, and I just know he’s sticking his tongue out under that mask.

“Well, what about Misto and Pike?” 

I think about it.

“That sounds nice. I’d like to be Misto however.”

“Great!” Pike bounces a little. Seeing him happy makes my heart feel like it’s bursting as if it were an overripe strawberry. 

Clink. I press our faces together in a fallout kiss, grinning like a buffoon. Pike snickers at the sentimentality he knows I feel right now.

“Feeling lovey today?” He teases, letting me melt into his embrace anyways.

“Yeah.” I say. 

The grey snow keeps falling outside.

“We should probably start heading back, Misto.” My new name sounds foreign on Pike’s tongue, emphasized in all the places that make logical sense. 

“Alright. Just five more minutes.” I beg. He huffs at me.

“Okay.” Pike indulges me, sitting down. 

He knows my knees aren’t what they used to be. I don’t mind as much as I thought I would when I was young. With what I’ve lived through, it feels like a gift just to grow old, and a blessing to grow old with someone else.

“Pike, when we die, could we be buried under a fruit tree together?” 

He blinks.

“Is this a gay joke?” 

“You’re a gay joke.” 

We stare at each other for a while before bursting into wheezing and laughing. Fighting my laughter like a salmon fighting the upstream, I start talking again.

“No. No, I mean when we die, I want us to share a grave under a fruit tree so we could be together and feed our family even after we’re gone.” 

I can almost feel Pike’s endeared smile as he brushes his knuckles against my mask.

“Simp.” He says affectionately. I groan.

“You sound like a grandpa using old slang like that.”

Pike laughs. He laughs like chicken soup, warm, hearty and safe. Pike’s my heart, and he makes me feel like a ribcage or some human version of Fort Knox. 

Every place I’ve lived in was ripped away by time and well, the literal fucking apocalypse, but Pike’s been there for the past thirty years. Pike’s my hearth and it comforts me to know I can always come home to him. 

He cocks his head.

“What are you thinking about, Misto?” 

“You.” I say. Clink. Pike gives me another fallout kiss. I wheeze a bit in laughter. Laughter comes easy these days, easy when you know you’re not alone. 

“Alright, let’s go.” Pike says, getting up, before pausing to help me up. 

We head back the way we came, reprinting the steps half-filled by snow and ash.


End file.
